The Little Things
by fennecfawkes
Summary: Shawn/Cory. Oneshot. Follows "Needs." Of fries and shaving and a lack of necessity regarding underwear, it's the little things you never notice till it really seems to matter. I don't own these characters. I wish I could write fake people so convincingly.


Shawn Hunter had never noticed it before, but there was something strange about the way Cory Matthews ate his fries.

It was a Tuesday evening, and after work, neither of them felt like making dinner or even heating up a frozen pizza. So Cory, perhaps jokingly, suggested they go to Chubby's.

"It'll be like a first date in high school," he cracked, looking surprised when Shawn nodded and put on his jacket.

That was when Cory did something else Shawn had never noticed before: stepped into his shoes without unlacing or loosening them. Shawn wasn't quite sure how he could that, but decided not to ask. One by one, since three days before, when they'd slept together for the first time, all these minute observations had been cropping up. Cory sleeps with one leg in the air and one arm at his side. Cory shaves every other day. Cory isn't actually hungry in the mornings, but he sits with Shawn at breakfast and painstakingly munches on an apple. Cory doesn't consider underwear a necessity. And Cory kisses really, really well. Now, Cory puts as many fries in his mouth as he can before swallowing, and Shawn can't help thinking there's a whole lot of room in there—as if he didn't already know that.

"So, how many fries can you fit in there?"

Cory closed his open mouth and put down his hand, his fingers still gripping a soggy-looking fry. He chewed and swallowed. "Dunno. 11, I think. That's the record, at least."

"Is that always how you eat them?"

"As long as I can remember, yeah. You never noticed?"

"I guess I'm noticing a lot of things now I didn't before."

"Yeah?" Cory smiled, almost shyly, something Shawn rarely saw. "I guess I am, too."

"Like what?"

"Well, you go first."

Shawn listed off everything he'd been thinking of—the sleeping, the shaving, the breakfast, the kissing. He left out the underwear. It didn't seem appropriate somehow. "Now you go," he said.

"Well, first, your hair."

"What about it?"

"Depending on how you sleep, the part changes."

Shawn laughed. "It does. It used to drive me crazy. Now, though, I just don't care."

"Well, I wouldn't, either. It looks good no matter what."

Shawn felt himself blushing, even more rare than a shy smile from Cory. "What else?"

"Your eyes. They change, depending on what you're wearing. And the pencil chewing. Whenever you write something, and you're actually thinking about it—not just a note to yourself or a grocery list or something mundane—you chew on your pencil and I can't stop looking at your mouth."

The blush grew in its intensity, and Cory smirked, looking satisfied with himself.

"Hey, I didn't mention the way you don't always wear underwear," Shawn said just as the waitress approached their booth. This time, both boys blushed as she politely ignored their conversation and put down their meals, noting that she'd be back with refills on soda. Shawn and Cory both laughed when she left, though embarrassedly.

"Is there more?" Shawn asked.

"Are you kidding? Of course there's more. You never dog ear pages in books. You just remember the page number. You read for exactly 15 minutes before you go to sleep. And that patch of chest hair you have? Totally adorable."

The waitress practically dropped their drinks on the table. Shawn kicked Cory under the table and smiled, trying to be as charming as possible, at the waitress.

"I'm sorry," he said. "See, we just started dating, and—"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Honey," said the waitress, "we've known you two were going to fall in love for years."

Shawn's face turned red and he laughed nervously. Cory did the same, and she walked away.

"You mean that?" Shawn asked.

"You mean about the chest hair?" Corey swallowed a mouthful of burger. "Yeah, totally. It's so weird, you know, the whole flat chest thing."

"I know! It's like ... foreign. It's exciting. It's sexy."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"You think so?"

"I do," said Shawn with a grin, not feeling so shy anymore.

"Well. I'll remember that." Cory took another bite. So much room.

It didn't take the whole night to figure out that going on a date with a boy was a lot like going on a date with a girl, just with more facial hair and less giggling—though there was still some of that. After all, it was Cory, and it was a Judd Apatow movie. They held hands through the whole two hours and five minutes now, and they didn't try to be casual about it, as though it meant nothing; their fingers interlaced, and every once in a while, Shawn would raise Cory's hand to his lips and kiss it, and Cory would smile, and Shawn would forget where he was for a minute or two. He wondered idly if this was actually what love was, a bit shy and bumbling, but with an overwhelming sense of rightness. Had he loved Angela? Yeah. Yeah, he really had. But she wasn't his best friend. She wasn't his Cory. And no one else ever would be.

Granted, this wasn't something he would be saying out loud anytime soon, and he doubted Cory felt any bolder or more convicted when it came to declarations of love. They'd said they loved each other before, but not after ... well, not now. That kind of thing took time. Even if ... even if you already knew it was true, that you were in love and there was no threat of that changing anytime soon.

_Oh, shit_, he thought as Cory ran his thumb over Shawn's softly, a nicer feeling than Shawn figured it would be. This whole "holding hands" bit, that wasn't going to get old. _Yes_, he told himself. _Think about holding hands. And popcorn. And the way Cory eats fries. Don't even think the word "love" anymore. You can do this, Shawn_. Even in his own mind, he didn't call himself "Shawnie." That was Cory's name for him. Cory owned that. Cory seemed to own _him_, to that end.

Now, as the movie ended and their hands remained clasped together as they took the long way back to their apartment, Shawn didn't know what to say. Normally, that wouldn't matter. The two of them often walked in silence. It was comfortable. But there was so much Shawn wanted to tell him, so much he'd had to say since that night at the playground, and he just couldn't figure out what he wanted it to sound like. It had to be perfect, because he was. It was that simple—and that difficult.

"Hey, what's up, buddy?" Cory asked Shawn. "You're being awful quiet."

"I was just thinking," Shawn said.

"About what?"

"You, mostly. How much I have to say to you. How long I've wanted to say it. Et cetera. Et cetera."

Cory smiled and looked around. Even when he'd had a girlfriend, he wasn't much for public displays of affection, but the street was acceptably empty, so he kissed Shawn on the cheek and said, "Take as long as you need to. I'm not going anywhere."

"You're not, are you?" Shawn asked softly.

This time, Cory didn't check the perimeter, leaning over and kissing Shawn, measured yet urgent, with just the right amount of passion. And tongue. That too. Sure, there was pacing and pleasure and all that, but mostly, all Shawn could think about was Cory's tongue.

"Never," said Cory. "Even if you thought I had a reason to. Because ... I'm Cory, and you're Shawn, and this was always the way it was going to end up, whether we were best friends or lovers or whatever." Shawn blushed at Cory's word choice as Cory went on, "No one expected anything but this, you know? We're supposed to be together. That's just ... how it works. That's just how it is."

Shawn nodded and kissed him this time, hoping that now, Cory was thinking about his tongue just as much as Shawn was thinking about his. "You don't have to convince me."

"Can I try?"

Shawn couldn't get to the apartment fast enough.


End file.
